


Playing Games

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Brahms Can Be A Grown Up When He Chooses To Be, Brahms Is A Brat, But He Knows How To Get What He Wants, Domestic smut, Dominant Brahms, F/M, Vaginal Sex, slasher x reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: Brahms has a very specific game in mind for the two of you to play . . .
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Brahms Heelshire/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 154





	Playing Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slashersins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashersins/gifts).



> So this is my first Slasher x Reader fic - such fun!

It has been a fairly uneventful day, or as uneventful as life can be when living with a (literal) doll-faced man-child with a penchant for murder. You’ve completed almost all the housework, and have finally got down to the final task: changing the sheets on the bed you share with Brahms, when you’re surprised by the feeling of strong arms around your middle. This happens often enough that it no longer makes you jump, but you still never hear him approaching. Smiling, you reach up to ruffle Brahms’s untidy hair.

“Hey,” you say. “You okay?”

“M’bored,” he whines. “Can we play a game?”

“In a minute,” you continue stuffing a pillow inside its case. “I’m just finishing up.”

His arms tighten sharply around you, making you gasp a little. “No. Now.”

_Great,_ you think, _he’s in a bratty mood._

Sighing, you set down the clean bedsheets and try to turn around, but he has you in too tight an embrace to move.

“What game d’you wanna play?” you ask, expecting his usual favourite of Hide and Seek or maybe a board game. You hope it’s not Monopoly – he’s a nightmare when he loses.

You feel the sudden cool pressure of porcelain against your cheek, the brush of hair tickling your skin.

“Mummies and Daddies.”

The use of his adult voice surprises you enough to send a thrill down your spine.

“We . . . we’ve not played that before,” you say softly, a small sigh leaving you as he snakes his arm further up your torso, one hand fondling experimentally at your breast. He shuffles right up behind you, every inch of your body now pressed against his. His warmth and scent surrounds you – the smell of well-worn clothing and the shampoo you clean his hair with. “Do you know how to play?”

In answer, he forces you forward ‘til your knees touch the bed. You fall forward, holding out your hands to prevent yourself landing face-first in the sheets. He leans over you, one hand on your hip, the other sliding up your loose shirt. You’ve not seen this side of him before – any attempts at affection have previously been halting and hesitant, a little desperate; certainly demanding and bratty at times, but this feel different. This is measured, dominant, almost . . . predatory.

He’s gripping your breast firmly in his palm, fingers pushing under the lining of your bra to touch your bare skin. His thumb and forefinger find your nipple and roll it, none-too-gently.

“Ow, Brahms,” you protest. “Not so hard.”

He gives a firm hip-thrust, catching you off guard so you tumble fully onto the bed. He lies down on top of you, his long, sinewy frame caging yours. You can feel the hardness in his slacks now, pressing against the crease of your butt. You can’t ignore the warm, soaking sensation between your legs, sending gentle hums of pleasure into the pit of your stomach.

“Brahms . . .” you moan, and growls, low and soft, in response. He starts to slowly grind against you, the hard lips of his mask digging into your neck and crook of your shoulder. Winding his fingers through yours, he pins your hands to the bed either side of your head, bearing his weight down upon you just hard enough to make you gasp.

Then, quicker than you can register in your lustful haze, he pushes himself into a standing position and throws off his cardigan. Blinking, you rise to a sitting position and pull down his braces, undoing the button of his slacks while he takes off his vest. You see his body every morning for the bath you insist he take, but each time never fails to make your heart flutter a little. His torso is long and slim, lean muscle lining his biceps and thighs, his chest boasting an impressive thatch of dark hair. For all he acts like a child, this body is undoubtedly that of a full-grown, hot-blooded man.

You bite back the protests as he practically rips your clothes from you. You know when he’s in this kind of impulsive, demanding mood, its best to simply go along with it, even if it doesn’t usually involve such carnal desires. His eyes are dark and wicked behind the mask, gazing down at you like a wolf stares hungrily at a rabbit. The balance of power in your relationship feels distinctly shifted as he crawls up the bed to hover over you, palms flat either side of your head.

“Open your legs,” he says, again in the adult Brahms voice. Trembling slightly, you obey.

He stares for a long, hot moment at the moist lips between your thighs before extending a finger and rubbing small circles at the spot he now knows makes you mewl and twitch. He pushes inside, the pad of his thumb on your clit, and you moan longingly as he brushes the soft flesh inside.

“Be quiet,” he orders, and you clamp your lips shut. At any other time, this kind of discourtesy might have annoyed you, but now it makes your breath shudder with desire.

He’s too impatient to wait now he knows how wet you are – how _ready_ – for him. Scrambling upward until he’s face-to-face with you, he takes hold of his cock and pushes it inside you, slowly at first, then faster in sheer desperation. He buries himself completely in you with a final sharp _thrust_ , and you gasp at how perfect he feels inside; thick enough to fill you, not so much to make you stretch. He doesn’t pause before pulling back and shoving back inside you again, again, _again_. One hand grasps a fistful of your hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, but it feels so fucking _good_ that you don’t care. You grab feebly at his broad shoulders, his arms, his chest, anywhere you can touch – anywhere that’s _him_. His dark curls fall down across the brow of his mask, and you long to kiss him. Kiss his lips, his real, warm, perfect lips.

“Br-Brahms,” you cry desperately, scrabbling at the cold imitation of flesh shielding his face from you. “Please . . . I need . . . let me _see_ you . . .”

His body tenses and, with a ferocity you’ve never experienced with him – or _any_ person – he rips the mask off and crushes your lips with his. You have barely a split second to appreciate the marred face you almost never get to see, but the warm wetness of his tongue against yours throws any such thoughts from your mind.

“Ugh . . . y/n,” he moans deeply, his voice reverberating against your mouth.

“Oh God,” you whimper, “oh fuck, _Brahms_.”

The sound of his name from your lips, spoken with such want, such desire, send him over the edge. Pressing his face into the nape of your neck, he slams into you once, twice, until you both cum – gloriously, _miraculously_ – together.

While you’re lying there, spent, eyes shut in ecstasy, he slips his mask back on, hiding what he fears will make you turn away. He knows you love him, you hope one day he’ll realise that your love encompasses _all_ of him. Giving a stifled chuckle, he leans down and presses a cool kiss against your cheek.

“I win.” 


End file.
